Des mots comme des fleurs,

Tu te plante dans mes archives,

Dans mon jardin

Celui qui t’appartient

As clouds got darker

Winds howled a bit louder

I found myself relating

With a sense of pugnacity

To the instability I could discern

The trees wept for the fallen leaves

Like I did for the fading part of me

I often blame myself

for the iniquity of others.

If they had abrasively grazed

the fragile strings which hold me together

then it is because I, and only I

have given them the thought

that wounds do heal in the end

but scars are often invisible

and I am still hurting.

I thought I didn’t need metaphors to describe you

But I can’t help but notice the aspects of all blooming life

Converging and absolutely intertwined

with your sublime being

You are my world

I want to write poems about the world

print them on sheets,

wrap them around me,

so that I could immerse myself in its wonders

trace its iridescent imperfections

and marvel at the enormity of this reality.

Heat up whatever cold I have inside,

Your warmth answers my prayers

and despite my numbness

I can’t deny that you make me feel something special

Resonating sounds and circulating blood,

Movement is constant and happening.

Vocal chords and veins hiding your gold,

You’re not a stagnant river.

You’re the sharp edged ocean raging

The one which embraces the treasure I’ve been looking for.

Between the stars, we shone brighter.

Treading on cloudy carpets with

delicacy, we left footprints heavy with

passion.

Through hell we extinguished each

other’s fire and locked out the demons.

Heaven is what I saw in your eyes,

But my wings have failed me,

And I am now back on earth.